


for my prayer has always been love

by shxrogane (minsazucar)



Category: Arslan Senki | Heroic Legend of Arslan
Genre: Confessions, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Post-Canon, mmmmmm yeah dont look at me this is so Soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-27
Updated: 2018-01-27
Packaged: 2019-03-10 07:15:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,563
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13497290
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/minsazucar/pseuds/shxrogane
Summary: “Daryun, you know I will name you my Eran. I would have no one else at my side but you.”“Yes, my king. And I will live up to all that your ambition needs of me.”The ease at which Daryun answers, smile wide and sincere, has Arslan’s breath hitching. He steels himself for what comes next.“And what if, Daryun, there was yet more that I desired from you?”---He is 19 the day of his coronation.





	for my prayer has always been love

**Author's Note:**

  * For [arahir](https://archiveofourown.org/users/arahir/gifts).



> this is all jojo @arahir's fault but im not complaining

Arslan is 19 the day of his coronation. 

The gold band they place atop his head must weigh not more than a feather, the craftsmanship so fine. Yet he struggles to hold his head high, struggles still, after all these years, to balance the burden of kingship. 

He will be a good king, this he knows, both through his hard earned confidence, and because of his loyal vassals that tell him so. He looks over to them now, scattered to his left, eyes glistening with pride. Arslan takes a moment to absorb it all, spares himself some time to fully appreciate his loyal companions.

Proud Narsus, with his chin held high yet his smile humble; Arslan had promised him the position of court painter long ago, a promise he fully intends to keep. But last night the man had also lamented how their dynamic as tacticians had flourished over the years, how _unfortunate_ it may be if he was to be fully removed from his highness's’ side. Arslan smiles to himself. 

Tomorrow, along with the title of court painter, he plans to ask Narsus to remain as his personal advisor as well. He knows now the man will not deny him.

His gaze travels down and lands on Elam. Elam, just but a year older than he, radiates pride through his whole being. The sincerity in his friend’s eyes brings a gentle smile to his lips. Oh Elam, who was so dedicated to Narsus’ side before, has truly grown into his own. Arslan doesn’t intend to part him from Narsus, not completely, but he knows that Elam would thrive as personal guard to foreign ambassadors. His friend longs to see the world, and Arslan would do all to indulge him.

Lady Farangis and Alfarid stand together, dressed in formal court wear, and their shared look of discomfort makes Arslan want to laugh. The priestess of Mithra has never stated what she would do once this war was over, although Arslan highly doubts she’ll return to the temple. Especially not so if it means leaving Alfarid behind. 

Arslan felt honored to be witness to their blooming companionship. Much to the woe of sir Gieve, it took them but a year into their travels to discover why Farangis remained so indifferent to her countless male suitors. The day Alfarid had succeeded in being the first person to make Farangis fluster was a day not soon to be forgotten.

Speaking of Gieve… 

Arslan directs his gaze to the minstrel, a casual smile on his friend’s face. Arslan feels a twinge of sadness in his chest. He will not ask Gieve to stay. He no longer doubts the man’s loyalty, and has long since considered the man a dear friend. Sir Gieve has fought for him and saved him more times than he can count. But Arslan knows Gieve has no desire for stringent court life. 

After the excitement of victory dies down, Gieve will likely take to the road once more, traveling where his heart may lead him. Arslan will see him off with a smile, knowing the gods will bring them together again someday.

Arslan sighs and looks away from his friends. He straightens his shoulders and looks to his right.

Daryun, strong and proud, stands by his side, unwavering as always. A warmth settles in Arslan’s chest, a fire that spreads out his whole body. Daryun has always had that effect on him. This time, he doesn’t fight it. He lets the love and admiration he holds for Daryun flow through him, he takes time to fully appreciate the weight of his knight’s dedication over all these years.

Arslan would give this man the world if he could. Instead, he’ll just have to settle with sharing this kingdom with him.

Reinstating Daryun as a _marzban_ is not enough. Everyone knows this, and no one will be surprised when Arslan names him grand general, _Eran_. There is no one he trusts more, in skill and loyalty, to be the commander of his army. The right hand of the king.

Another thought occurs to him in that moment, something he swore only to tell once he sat on the throne, Daryun at his side. It is this flash of a thought that grounds him, pulling his gaze away from his knight, lest his heart be displayed for all to see. But later… later he will ponder the correct way to proceed. He will use all the skill of stratagem Narsus imparted on him and he will finally tackle this last battle. For now, this is enough. 

The coronation proceeds. Arslan is finally Shah of Pars.

 

\---

 

The halls of the palace ring with the sound of celebration. As according to Parsian tradition, the festivities will last for three days, a day each to honor the heavens, the earth, and the new Shah. It is on the last day of these festivities that Arslan resolves to make his move.

The third night will end with a ceremony, not unlike the tradition to usher in a new year. After all, they are ushering in a new era, a new king and nation and legend. Arslan is to travel to a spring, accompanied by someone deemed his most trusted. No one is surprised when he picks Daryun. The two are nearly inseparable, both in person and in legend. Their names are often sung side by side in recounts of their epic tale; the king and his lionheart.

The walk to the spring is peaceful, a comfortable quiet resting between them, proof of the many years spent in each other’s company. Arslan leads and Daryun dutifully follows. But more and more, Arslan wishes for them to walk side by side instead. Both literally and in the figurative sense. Arslan has long since considered Daryun his equal, but it is the stubborn knight that maintains this distance. Arslan has allowed it, has never pushed these unspoken boundaries. It has made the years easier, when they were fighting an impossible war, but there’s no need for it now.

Now, Arslan is ready to close that distance.

The spring shines bright under the glow of countless stars. Arslan pauses at the edge of it, unwilling to disturb its still surface just yet. Like this, the water acts as a mirror, a beautiful reflection of the heavens above. He takes a deep breath and turns to his companion.

“Daryun, before we begin, I have something that must be said.”

To his credit, Daryun’s eyes simply widen in surprise, before he bows his head in submission.

“Ask what you will, your highness.”

Arslan can’t help but smile at the familiar gesture. But that is not what he wants right now.

“Raise you head and lower it no more.”

This time, Daryun’s confusion is evident, but he obeys and keeps his head raised, all attention focused now on Arslan. He struggles to not fluster under that intense gaze. Not yet.

“Daryun, you know I will name you my _Eran_. I would have no one else at my side but you.”

“Yes, my king. And I will live up to all that your ambition needs of me.”

The ease at which Daryun answers, smile wide and sincere, has Arslan’s breath hitching. He steels himself for what comes next.

“And what if, Daryun, there was yet more that I desired from you?”

Daryun’s brows furrow in thought, seemingly clueless as to where this is headed. For both their sakes, Arslan prays it’s a facade. Prays that Daryun has _some_ inkling of what Arslan speaks of. It would be much too embarrassing otherwise. He cannot let the seeds of doubt take root in him just yet.

“Then, my king, I will give all I can to make sure you want for not.”

“Daryun, I want you to call me by name. When it is just us, I want you to call me Arslan, and nothing more,” he states resolutely.

“My king–”

He stops short at the look Arslan sends his way. It is a battle of wills then, one he quickly concedes.

“As you wish, Arslan.”

Such a simple utterance, hardly more than a whisper, should not have such a profound effect. And yet Arslan cannot help the heat that rushes to his face, cannot calm the rapid beat of his heart.

“That is not all I wish for,” he continues, voice softening, “Daryun, step closer to me.”

The knight hesitates but a moment before complying, closing the formal gap between them. Regardless of how Arslan has grown over the years, his stature will never reach the heights of his friend. Even still, Arslan must crane his neck back to be able to see his knight’s golden eyes. They stand in silence for a stretch of time, Daryun with his renowned poker face, and Arslan fighting so that his next words will not crack.

“Daryun. This is my last wish, but it is under a condition, and I will not tolerate this condition being violated. Understood?”

At his knight’s curt nod, Arslan continues.

“Daryun, if you so desire it, I would wish for you to kiss me.”

The words are quiet, a request that hangs in the private moment between them. Neither men make to move, caught on this precipice, not knowing what will come of it, which way they’ll fall. Daryun’s face is unreadable, for the first time in a long time. Arslan holds his breath and waits for an answer.

“My king– Arslan… I don’t, I–”

Arslan feels disappointment settle in his gut, but he refuses to acknowledge it. He came into this knowing it was a possibility his affections would not be returned. He watches Daryun fondly as the man struggles to find the right words.

“Daryun, be calm. You need not stress yourself. This is why my wish was conditional on your desire. If your heart does not match mine in this matter, then–”

His words catch in his throat as Daryun moves, reaching both hands up to gently cup his face. He’s captured once more in those warm golden eyes, ones that seem to glow in the darkness around them. He dares not allow himself to hope…

“Arslan, my Arslan, do you truly know what you ask of me?”

It takes a moment for the question to register, his head still swimming with the sound of _‘my Arslan’_. Daryun doesn’t release him, doesn’t step back, just waits for Arslan to hear his heart. Arslan releases a shaky breath and places his own hands atop Daryun’s, reveling in the warmth even through their leather gloves.

“I know simply that I love you, and to have you at my side as more than a knight, as more than a _friend_ , would be the answer to my wildest prayers.”

This time it is Daryun who’s shaken, palms trembling where he holds the gentle king’s face. Arslan does know what he’s asking for. He knows what something like this would entail, what hurdles they would have to face. But he could overcome hell itself, if only Daryun was by his side. He has to take a risk.

Slowly, so as to give time to pull away, Arslan turns his face to place a chaste kiss on Daryun’s palm. These hands, holding his face so soft, are capable of so much. Arslan has seen for himself the power in these hands, the way they grip a sword, the way they fight and defend. These mighty hands, covered in countless scars, are also capable of gentleness, capable of a tenderness one would think impossible of Daryun. But Arslan knows. Arslan _knows_.

His heart pounding in his ears, he waits for a fallout that never comes. Daryun doesn’t move. So Arslan indulges, turning to place a kiss on his other palm, tracing the worn leather with lips and fingertips. Then he moves to his wrist, to the tiny sliver of exposed skin, and gives the same attention with a kiss. He showers this man with whatever devotion he’s allowed.

“Daryun, if it is your intention to reject me, please do so now.”

He breathes these words desperately into Daryun’s hand, not wishing to stop just yet, but knowing he must. And so stop he does, even if it pains him to do so. Daryun takes the moment to move back, dropping his hands. Arslan closes his eyes and smiles, waiting for the inevitable.

“I’m sorry, my king, but I intend to do no such thing.”

There is no time for Arslan to process those words before he’s engulfed in the warmth of Daryun’s embrace. Those powerful hands now grip his waist, pulling him closer as their lips meet. 

Their first kiss is not soft, not sweet as one would imagine. It is clumsy and harsh and _desperate_ , laced with a longing they’ve both carried too long. It is a proclamation as much as it is a promise. It is everything Arslan had dreamed it to be, and so much more.

They part momentarily for a much needed breath. Arsla unfurls his fists from where they grasp Daryun’s shirt. Instead, he reaches to wind his arms around the knight’s strong neck. Daryun bows his head so that their foreheads touch, each taking their time to simply gaze at one another.

“Daryun… Daryun call me yours again.”

Arslan holds him tighter still, pulls him closer still. Daryun presses in for another kiss, chaste in comparison, trailing them across lips, cheeks, to the under of his jaw. It is there he pauses, lips just brushing his flushed skin.

“My Arslan. My beloved and noble Arslan.”

Had Daryun’s grip not been so firm, Arslan would have long since fallen to his knees. That is how utterly weak those simple words make him. Arslan lets out a harsh breath through his nose before hauling himself up, finding strength once more. He presses his lips as high as they’ll go, to front of Daryun’s throat, and he lingers there.

“And you are my Daryun. My brave, loyal Daryun. I trust no one more, love no one more than you.”

They stay like this, sharing murmured nothings between kisses, for several minutes. Arslan takes his time running his hands where they will reach, mapping the sharp edges of Daryun’s face, shoulders, arms. Daryun indulges him, gently tracing Arslan in return, fingers combing through his short fine locks. Arslan had cut his hair off several battles ago and has since debated the merits of growing it back out. If it means having Daryun comb through his hair like this, he will gladly grow it back.

But this moment cannot last forever. There is a ceremony to complete, an entire kingdom awaiting their return. And so it is with great reluctance that they part, determined to carry on their duties.

Later, after fetching the water, after sharing nabeed and rejoicing with the city, they will find each other again. Over the top of fires, gold meets blue, the sky and its sun, and a quiet understanding passes between them. There is much left to discuss, much left to confess. But later. This is enough for the moment.

 

\---

 

In the candle lit corridors, deep in the night, Arslan retires to his quarters. He does not need to ask Daryun to accompany him, does not need to see if the knight follows him. 

Arslan leads and Daryun walks with him, side by side.

**Author's Note:**

> in the course of a single week arslan senki has consumed my life and i was possessed by a holy spirit to fill the arslan/daryun tag with the content it Deserves
> 
> hmu on tumblr @[fratboyshiro](https://fratboyshiro.tumblr.com) for more gay ships filled with endless love and devotion


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